The Influence of a Boy
by StagehandHero
Summary: His influence stretched further than he could ever dream. The boy who changed the world. The boy who lived. But not forever.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I own nothing recognizable

Once, there was a boy named Harry. He was small for his age, and grew up too fast, and he died much too young to appreciate what he did to the world. The people he touched the hearts of, were many. The changes he inspired, great.

He was a symbol of hope.

He was a catalyst of the ages.

He was a survivor.

Until he wasn't. A boy that never got to be a man.

But this is not his story, the saga of his life too much and too little to capture in mere words.

This is the story, of his influence.


	2. Chapter 1

The first time I used his name was innocent enough. I just wanted to make sure those that deserved it finally got justice. I wanted those that supported that monster locked up, and the key thrown away. I just wanted the war to finally be put to rest. It was an honorable reason to use the name of an orphaned child, or so I told myself.

The second time was remarkably similar, really. Honorable, I convinced myself. Easily justified. It was just so impactful, rousing those that would otherwise sit by and wave the flag of neutrality. Invoking his story, his sacrifice and triumph, rallied even the most reticent of members to action. It was effective, my proposal taken with nary a vote against.

And that was when I lost sight of that so easily crossed and blurred line.

I didn't use his name every time, of course. It would have lost all hold of them if I had. But strategic mentions, innuendos of a boy's disappointment at the lack of strides we could have made, it all came together nicely. Things were moving, moving forward, and I couldn't let them stop. Not when I knew how much better I could make it, not when I knew exactly the direction it should go.

He made his first appearance a few years after that first use.

I was well on my way to minister, well on my way to shaming the family that cast me aside, well on my way to greatness; his name paving my way.

He was adorable, big eyes and a youthful bone structure that hinted at the handsome man to come in later years. He was quiet. Solemn. In all the photographs taken of his reintroduction there was never a smile upon his face, only fascination, and confusion, and heart-breaking hesitation, once you learned his whys. Fear.

Everyone knew his story, but nobody knew **_him_**, and most were content to keep it that way, me especially.

His name had helped me get this far, his story had compelled a flurry of innovation. The picture he presented could only help that, given the proper spin. A lonely orphan boy, scared of the world he was born to, scared of us. It's a flawed system that allowed that. One I could fix, one I'd been fixing for him, all along.

If I had known how close to the truth that was, I wonder if I would've used it anyways.


	3. Chapter 2

He was my first friend. The first kid to be nice to me, to notice me as a person. And I think I was the first person he told, about **everything.**

He learned to pretend so early in life, I'm not sure _**everything**_ is what I got, but I'm certain I knew more than anyone else

It wasn't enough.

He led a hard life, worse than anyone knew or wanted to believe, and that world only ever made it worse. They taught him to hide all the better, to withhold, and pretend and obscure. To mask it all, until even his closest friends, even I, didn't know.

I was pampered by comparison. I grew up loved, in a good neighborhood, with successful parents. I was never hungry or hit, never accused without cause. I did well in school, exceeding all expectations placed upon me again and again.

I kept my head when thrust into a world apart. I excelled at school there, too. I made friends to last a lifetime, and had enough adventures to fill books.

I was on a path of progressing prosperity, my adult life starting with more open doors of opportunity than I knew what to do with.

So why? They ask, bemoaning their fate at my hands. What did they ever do? Why did I throw it all away?

So much promise wasted. Turned against them. Thrown in their faces and spat upon.

And why not? They turned their backs on him. On their so called savior, on their "beloved hero", who saved them time after blasted time, without half the thanks he warranted, and not a word of deserved admonishment.

And never, not once, an enquiry after his health. His mental health, his physical health, his at home health, all brushed aside and slipped behind a curtain.

Of course I turned on them. The people that allowed him to be swept under a rug and martyrized by a corrupted government with control of the horrendous press. The government that used him up to the last drop. The press that twisted and perverted his story long before he was aware of them.

And I wasn't alone. There weren't many that could claim true friendship. There weren't many that understood how _wrong _the world was to him, how it had to pay.

It's not fair. His life wasn't fair. His end even less so. It's not fair that I'm here, and he's not. But it doesn't matter.

Because nothing is fair, and I couldn't hurt who broke him, but I will hurt **_everyone else. _**


End file.
